Schism: The Battle for Darracia (Book 1) (9 page)

“
This is too, too easy, V’sair. And to think you had pretensions to the kingship. I am ashamed to call you my kinsman.” Pacuto laughed, showing two rows of sharp teeth. “Then I will find that Quyroo slattern and sink my Fireblade into her.”

V
’sair’s face turned blue with fury as he screamed and attacked Pacuto with a strength born of hatred. The Fireblade glowed with red intensity, burned with a loathing V’sair felt. The night air was filled the clanging of metal against metal, and they fought in the open meadow, firelight illuminating the battle. Blood saturated V’sair’s clothes from various slashes, and he felt himself fading. Pacuto neatly sliced here and there, and soon the prince was covered with blood from the numerous small cuts.

Dizziness overwhelmed him, his blood dripping quietly to be absorbed by the forest floor. The blade felt heavy in his hand, and he raised the tip with
much effort. Their sword points met, and electrified each other, the weapons clanged with the touch of the positive and negative forces colliding. Pacuto sliced again, opening V’sair’s right side from armpit to hip. The prince was weakening, and when Hother sensed her master’s trouble, she screamed. Pacuto grinned. “Ah, Hother, your head will decorate my stable.” Raising his weapon, he moved in the for kill.

V
’sair watched with detached calm, knowing he was about to die, when he heard Tulani’s cry rend the air. “Noooooo!”

“
Ah, Tulani, right? Let me finish with this boy then show you a real man!” Pacuto grinned with malice. He laughed hard, and with his free hand, bent to grab his discarded tryath. Deftly he flicked his wrist, neatly severing the prince’s royal white braid. “My trophy!” Pacuto’s eyes gleamed with triumph as he raised it to the stars. “I will hang it from my sword handle next to your father’s!”

V
’sair’s fury bubbled up through his veins like white-hot lava. Concentrating his waning strength, V’sair reached deep inside himself, feeling something light up like a sun. Filling with warmth, he watched his blade regenerate with power, from a dull red to a fierce and threatening violet. Its blaze lit the prince’s face, and ignoring the fatigue, he visualized a ball of energy that embraced his every pore. He became the aggressor, going after Pacuto, who now backed away defensively. The sword had a life of its own, and he moved his hand to where it would have the best advantage. Pacuto felt the steel bite the flesh of his arm, slicing deep. They fought like demons, the light from the fire painting their faces so that they glowed with sweat in the dark night. The battle raged, and Pacuto stopped his insults, working hard to keep his balance against his cousin’s Fireblade.

I feel it. I am the Fireblade
, V’sair thought with wonder, as his arm followed the command of the sword, his very soul engaged in the pursuit of victory.

Pacuto feigned right and thrust
his Fireblade deeply into V’sair’s shoulder. The prince fell to his knees, the blade stuck in the sinew of his body. Pacuto struggled to remove it for the last killing blow when suddenly an explosion lit the night, throwing Pacuto to the ground. He rose unsteadily, wavering on his feet, looking at his cousin, when another bomb blew shrapnel that peppered his body.

“
Come!” he ordered his men, leaving his Fireblade stuck in his cousin’s body. After grabbing the bag of randam crystals, he tethered Hother to his own stallius, and leaped onto Winata. They raced to the sky, his ride rocked by sound wave after sound wave as explosions blasted around him.

Chapter 13

Staf strode out of his room to the quarters of his men, where he had planned a meeting with his officers. If Pacuto did not hurry up and kill the prince, he would miss the takeover. The halls were deserted, as most of the guests had gone to Reminda’s salon for dinner. He might be missed, but at this point, he didn’t care.

Four of his staff waited for him, the
ir faces bright with excitement. Maps were spread out on a large table, and he bent over one.

“
General Blyst is in position. He is cutting off Vekin in the west wing. They will be trapped,” his chief told him.

“
What of escape? Can they get to their ships?”

“
Not likely,” a fresh-faced captain replied. “We’ll be bombing the landing bays. No one in and no one out.”

“
Communications?”

“
We are taking out the tower so they won’t be able to warn each other. Nothing will work, not the intercoms or the nevi service. It’ll be like target practice.”

“
What of us?” Staf asked. “The landing bays may take months to repair. I don’t like it. We’ll need to be able to bring more troops in here.”

“
We have secured the service entrance,” the captain said. “I have a detail there already. They are only waiting for us to start killing the kitchen staff.”

“
Who will cook for us?” Staf said with a laugh.

“
We’ll have to import new servants, Your Eminence.” The captain bowed his head.

“‘
Your Highness’ will do.” Staf inclined his own head.

“
An honor sir…Your Highness.”

“
What of my ship?” he questioned.

“
Admiral Harn has it parked and ready, should you need to move out.”

“You said c
ommunications will be down?”

“
Yes, my lord.” The captain reached behind himself and handed Staf an antique communication device. “It’s old and barely works. We have only two, one for you and one for the ship.”

Staf smiled. “
I remember these from my grandfather’s day.”

“
We went to a lot of trouble to find them. Had to travel to the outer reaches, but there you have it.”

“
You don’t have any others?”

He shook his head.
“We had to rig the power source. I’m not even sure of the range, but it’s all we have.”

“
Then it will have to do, Captain.” Staf pocketed the small rectangular box. He laughed long and hard, his great frame shaking with pleasure. “So it begins!” He raised his fist into the air. “Long live the house of Nuen!”

A cry went up,
sounding like a thousand voices, and Staf thrilled to hear their battle cry: “Long live the house of Nuen!”

The carnage began
, and there was no mercy. It was as if the doors of hell had opened, allowing a plague to come in to destroy all life—Staf Nuen’s plague of an army. They showed no mercy, killing male and female alike. Brains were dashed, stomachs ripped open; the soldiers were as pitiless as they were merciless. Swiftly and efficiently they wiped out an entire squadron of sleeping guards who were totally unaware and unprepared for the attack. Both Darracians and Quyroos were cut down, their loyalty to the king and queen the only reason for their deaths. Soon the halls were slick with blood from the vicious attack, when peace was what they had prepared for; the assault had taken the castle unawares. It was a vast fortress, and though a battle was waged, most didn’t hear it. In the queen’s rooms, the party went on.

Staf’s soldiers
had done their research; every guard—from the balconies to the many corridors—was cut down swiftly and silently, with only the victims aware they had been slain before they even had a chance to fight back.

Soon Staf
’s men lined the halls, controlling everyone in them.

***

Staf entered his brother’s chambers to find the king and Quyroo leader, Jonis, in a friendly discussion.

“
Staf.” The king looked up, unalarmed. “You’re supposed to be at the dinner in the queen’s rooms.”

“
I don’t think so, brother.” He pulled his sword from his belt.

“
What is the meaning of this?” Drakko stood up, his chest puffed out.

“
Is this how you treat an honored guest?” Jonis asked, breaking the tense silence.

Staf turned to look at him
with contempt on his pitted face. “No,” he addressed the Quyroo. “This is how we treat our guests from the Desa!” With a vicious swipe, he lobbed off Jonis’s head, wiping out any chance of peace.

“
Staf!” Drakko yelled.

Two soldiers grabbed his arms
, and Staf circled him. “We will see how far soft bends now, brother,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

Chapter 14

Hilde
came to awareness in a rush and gasped. She heard music and lifted her head, only to be assailed by dizziness. A gentle webbed hand rested against her shoulder, and she heard the muted whispers of the queen and Zayden.

“
Ah, you have decided to join us.” Reminda bent over and smiled into her niece’s eyes.

Hilde
felt Zayden’s strong hands lift her, and a glass was held against her lips.

“
I looked for your lady mother, but she cannot be found,” Reminda continued. “Do you know where she is, child? All our nevi seem to be out.”

“
Must be a solar flare,” Zayden said. “I think I remember reading about them earlier this week.”

“
More likely the smoke from the fires in the Desa,” the queen retorted. “A minor inconvenience.” She smiled. “I rather enjoy being cut off from the world for just a bit.”

R
aising a hand to her forehead, Hilde responded quietly that she had no idea where Beatha was. Though she felt Zayden’s gaze on her, she kept her eyes averted.
Sweet Sradda
, she wondered,
what to do? What to do?

“
You gave me quite a scare,” Zayden told her softly, doubling her misery.

“
My brother?” she whispered back.

Zayden shook his head
. “Moon madness? The king has sent out a patrol to bring him in.”

“
Perhaps you are hungry?” the queen inquired, and slipped her arm through Hilde’s to help her walk into the Ambros room.

I
n the serenity of the queen’s chambers, there was no sign of the guards rushing about. Gentle music filled the air. It was as it always was—peaceful—and Hilde wondered whether she had dreamed overhearing her parents’ plot. A large buffet filled with Darracian and Quyroo delicacies was spread across the entire back of the room. Strange smells drifted through the air, and Hilde noticed a small group of Quyroo laughing nearby. The Darracian court was observing them, and her mother, Countess Beatha, was noticeably missing.

“
Where is the prince?” Hilde asked the queen.

“
Off with my handmaiden in the Desa.”

Hilde
stiffened; Zayden felt her tension and said, “Your Highness, allow me a few minutes with Lady Hilde, please?”

Reminda nodded regally and went off to join the
group of Quyroos.

Zayden
escorted his cousin into a private room.

“
You’re jumpy today, little one.” He pulled her near a divan and stroked her arm. “I doubt they will do much to Pacuto—perhaps a banishment.”

He cupped her hands
in his own; his sword had made his palms calloused, but to Hilde they felt reassuring and made her feel safe.

“
It’s not that,” she whispered urgently. “It’s—”

Zayden pressed his finger against her lips.
“I have spoken to my father. I have asked for you. I know I should first speak to your father, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Dare I hope you will take me as your husband?”

Tears gathered in
Hilde’s eyes. This was everything she had dreamed of; Zayden was the answer to all her hopes. If she told him what she knew about her parents’ impending coup, he would feel only disgust for her. But how would he ever trust her if she failed to tell him what she knew?

“
I…There is something…”

“
Hilde, don’t say another word. I must be brave and face your father.” He smiled, his skin wrinkling in the corners of his eyes.

Before she could answer, the sound of
booted feet interrupted them, and the doors to the Ambros room burst open. Hilde shrank back into Zayden’s embrace. They could see everything but remained hidden in the shadows of the retiring room. Staf Nuen stood boldly in the entrance, the severed head of the Quyroo leader in his fist. A trail of blood dripped onto the pristine floor.